It was Sunday night when I felt my feet touch the Earth at Ghaziabad Junction, though my consciousness still floated freely some remotely 500km away, in a small unknown institute called Indus.
Two days at Gramya Manthan* did rotate my world by a complete 180 degree, transporting me back in time to make me stand on the same fields where I met my evidential existentiality, unencompassed passion for creation, deep volcanic love, and a fire, of which the last remains made me board a train to Kanpur the next day of my Mumbai to Delhi flight.
New faces decorated with expressions virgin and hungry, with that fresh light of curiosity sparkling in those eyes did make me feel newborn-like. The stark contrast of veteran Youth Alliance made me appreciate the design behind the event - a carefully crafted, evolving journey towards a mysterious promise of self-actualization. But then that interpretation eludes the personal experiential by-products.
With senses enveloped in anxiety, as I stepped out of Mahabodhi Express on the Friday night, I knew this small odyssey will bring back impossible memories. And as I stood there by the station gate, waiting for my volunteer friend's company, I realized my hypothesis would indeed be most accurate. I captured those lights which claimed my destination to be Kanpur, and our smiles with my friend finally met me. A quick upload was just what I needed to let other alumni-counterparts know what they missed. It suddenly felt promisingly carefree again, as our auto rickshaw sped furiously past local civilization, just outside the gates of Pathar College, which strangely reminded me of my Banaras Hindu University gates. Scurrying in the narrow lanes of the University, our vehicle reached Swaminathan Auditorium, and as I got down I felt eyes, that I guess to be new participants', squinting in the dark far away, curious as they were to know their companions for the next 9 days. But for then I walked ahead, so as to meet and thank that army of volunteers behind the scenes - my friends who were the architects and designers behind this huge to-be-experience.
It was soon felt how peculiar Gramya Manthan as a program will be, as we all succumbed to a down-to-earth feast. Literally did I mean so by down to earth, as when we sat down on roughly cut stone tiles, I saw the beaming delight in those new eyes for they seemed to be welcoming a change already. Amid modestly edible dal, rice, chapatis and aalo, we ate compassionately, in that ecstasy of being but strangers to all, yet belonging to that moment almost like a family.
Post dinner, an internet-free loosely careless ecosystem shaped up as we all sat in a circle on the garden grass, and beautiful sub-sonic vibrations phenomenalized not much to talk, but too much to be shared. I knew I'd hate myself for it, but I did speak on. I spoke of stories, of why life was beautiful when questioned and tortured, and snapshots of Gramya Manthan '13 which flashed back in my mind as times that almost did not exist, yet those deeply engraved scars on my being reminded me that they surely did.
Promising enthusiastic Young men and ladies with enigma in those beautiful eyes surrounded me, and the beast inside me wanted to savor the knowledge and logic behind those smiling faces. My mind humbly reminded me that our times of GM'13 were gone, and all I could do was touch a few lives and enroll a few as to-be-remembered companions. And so I looked forward to walking up Saturday morning to taste my bit of the delicious experiential recipe that lay ahead.
The sky was blue in the most beautiful hue, and as untouched freshness of that air filled each molecule of what constitutes me, standing on the rooftop, I spread my arms to encompass the beauty that nature gifts us every morning. I felt like a carefree young boy, slowly walking around with eyes eager to watch and never forget those passing moments. This was my day of conquest, conquest over negatives that I had been pinning on myself for those 365 days of past. It was my day of embracing life with a smile of difference and hope.
As I walked downstairs, I saw three souls walk out of their caves, my to-be-friends-and-more, and we joined in common cherish to welcome the beauty of the morning. We walked on, capturing the serenity of tall old tress with branches hugging the road like a grandfather's embrace. The birds were in ecstasy and sang their love for sweet droplets of rain, and their soon to being one with the thirsty Earth below. A water tank reminded me of a persisting crave - a meaningless adventure I wanted to strike off my to-do. Climbing up the stairs seemed to humbly assist the disposal of my acrophobia. I was somehow blind to the view which my companions appreciated, but my eyes beamed with cheer on reaching the top of incomprehensible accomplishment. This was but one freedom - the freedom of open experience. Counting the stairs, math helped us approximate how high we just climbed, but no estimates of how high our spirits did flow.
As I walked beside her, I talked about various romances of life, and her curious eyes seemed to absorb the essence in it's entirety. She was young and untouched by scars, but her stories reminded me of mine. Peacocks, unsuccessful-climb-up-old-trees, ancient ponds, droplets of future rain, and her footsteps, which we counted for quantitative enlightenment up to the 1.5 kms we walked, yet without evaluation of how much we subconsciously traveled.
Back in our camp, my camera captured young innocent smiles, and the hard work of our veterans which that inner eye could comprehend. We sat in circles, all but equals, and talked about the power that individual consciousness generates. Faith, Listening, Empathy, Dreams, Design, Transformation - Internal and Worldly, Perspective, Discontentment for Progression and appreciating the Roots of our existence.
It was soon that we bid adieu to those beautiful grounds, to travel to the transformational lands of Indus, which for me was revisiting a bright star I would never wish to move on from. We sat together far away from that silence humming with tiny scattered sparks of activity in the bus. I made her let her hair loose, so she could feel cold breeze rapture past embracing each strand of her beautiful hair. She made me sing, husky as it would be in her words, and we laughed in convulsion of cheerful pleasure exploding inside.
The night did come, and as Indus flashed in it's permanence, those walls hiding aging mysteries of numerous stories, origin of some of which lay deep within me. The night to come was to carve another mark in memory, and like dodging laser-like censor of vision, we stole our way through unknown terrain, only to reach a peak from where stars so appeared just within our fingers' reach. We drew shapes up in the night sky coloured with moonlight shining bright, nicknamed the mighty interstellar beasts of Moon and Morning Sun, secretly traced the trajectories of dark and light clouds, and did stretch the bandwidth of mental existence, partly by words, partly by experiences.
The sun rose high, and I was to say Goodbye. Goodbye to those spirits who melted into mine and bound well to be friends and brothers. Goodbye to the amazing enthusiasm of a minuscule perspective-shift that Youth Alliance instilled. Goodbye to so many pending adventures, instances of which GM'13 made me live, but which had aged old in my memories now, to be catalyzed by stories of this new generation of Change agents.
*Gramya Manthan is a Self-Reflection-cum-Rural-Immersion program set in Rural Kanpur.
http://youthallianceofindia.org/gramya-manthan/
Two days at Gramya Manthan* did rotate my world by a complete 180 degree, transporting me back in time to make me stand on the same fields where I met my evidential existentiality, unencompassed passion for creation, deep volcanic love, and a fire, of which the last remains made me board a train to Kanpur the next day of my Mumbai to Delhi flight.
New faces decorated with expressions virgin and hungry, with that fresh light of curiosity sparkling in those eyes did make me feel newborn-like. The stark contrast of veteran Youth Alliance made me appreciate the design behind the event - a carefully crafted, evolving journey towards a mysterious promise of self-actualization. But then that interpretation eludes the personal experiential by-products.
With senses enveloped in anxiety, as I stepped out of Mahabodhi Express on the Friday night, I knew this small odyssey will bring back impossible memories. And as I stood there by the station gate, waiting for my volunteer friend's company, I realized my hypothesis would indeed be most accurate. I captured those lights which claimed my destination to be Kanpur, and our smiles with my friend finally met me. A quick upload was just what I needed to let other alumni-counterparts know what they missed. It suddenly felt promisingly carefree again, as our auto rickshaw sped furiously past local civilization, just outside the gates of Pathar College, which strangely reminded me of my Banaras Hindu University gates. Scurrying in the narrow lanes of the University, our vehicle reached Swaminathan Auditorium, and as I got down I felt eyes, that I guess to be new participants', squinting in the dark far away, curious as they were to know their companions for the next 9 days. But for then I walked ahead, so as to meet and thank that army of volunteers behind the scenes - my friends who were the architects and designers behind this huge to-be-experience.
It was soon felt how peculiar Gramya Manthan as a program will be, as we all succumbed to a down-to-earth feast. Literally did I mean so by down to earth, as when we sat down on roughly cut stone tiles, I saw the beaming delight in those new eyes for they seemed to be welcoming a change already. Amid modestly edible dal, rice, chapatis and aalo, we ate compassionately, in that ecstasy of being but strangers to all, yet belonging to that moment almost like a family.
Post dinner, an internet-free loosely careless ecosystem shaped up as we all sat in a circle on the garden grass, and beautiful sub-sonic vibrations phenomenalized not much to talk, but too much to be shared. I knew I'd hate myself for it, but I did speak on. I spoke of stories, of why life was beautiful when questioned and tortured, and snapshots of Gramya Manthan '13 which flashed back in my mind as times that almost did not exist, yet those deeply engraved scars on my being reminded me that they surely did.
Promising enthusiastic Young men and ladies with enigma in those beautiful eyes surrounded me, and the beast inside me wanted to savor the knowledge and logic behind those smiling faces. My mind humbly reminded me that our times of GM'13 were gone, and all I could do was touch a few lives and enroll a few as to-be-remembered companions. And so I looked forward to walking up Saturday morning to taste my bit of the delicious experiential recipe that lay ahead.
The sky was blue in the most beautiful hue, and as untouched freshness of that air filled each molecule of what constitutes me, standing on the rooftop, I spread my arms to encompass the beauty that nature gifts us every morning. I felt like a carefree young boy, slowly walking around with eyes eager to watch and never forget those passing moments. This was my day of conquest, conquest over negatives that I had been pinning on myself for those 365 days of past. It was my day of embracing life with a smile of difference and hope.
As I walked downstairs, I saw three souls walk out of their caves, my to-be-friends-and-more, and we joined in common cherish to welcome the beauty of the morning. We walked on, capturing the serenity of tall old tress with branches hugging the road like a grandfather's embrace. The birds were in ecstasy and sang their love for sweet droplets of rain, and their soon to being one with the thirsty Earth below. A water tank reminded me of a persisting crave - a meaningless adventure I wanted to strike off my to-do. Climbing up the stairs seemed to humbly assist the disposal of my acrophobia. I was somehow blind to the view which my companions appreciated, but my eyes beamed with cheer on reaching the top of incomprehensible accomplishment. This was but one freedom - the freedom of open experience. Counting the stairs, math helped us approximate how high we just climbed, but no estimates of how high our spirits did flow.
As I walked beside her, I talked about various romances of life, and her curious eyes seemed to absorb the essence in it's entirety. She was young and untouched by scars, but her stories reminded me of mine. Peacocks, unsuccessful-climb-up-old-trees, ancient ponds, droplets of future rain, and her footsteps, which we counted for quantitative enlightenment up to the 1.5 kms we walked, yet without evaluation of how much we subconsciously traveled.
Back in our camp, my camera captured young innocent smiles, and the hard work of our veterans which that inner eye could comprehend. We sat in circles, all but equals, and talked about the power that individual consciousness generates. Faith, Listening, Empathy, Dreams, Design, Transformation - Internal and Worldly, Perspective, Discontentment for Progression and appreciating the Roots of our existence.
It was soon that we bid adieu to those beautiful grounds, to travel to the transformational lands of Indus, which for me was revisiting a bright star I would never wish to move on from. We sat together far away from that silence humming with tiny scattered sparks of activity in the bus. I made her let her hair loose, so she could feel cold breeze rapture past embracing each strand of her beautiful hair. She made me sing, husky as it would be in her words, and we laughed in convulsion of cheerful pleasure exploding inside.
The night did come, and as Indus flashed in it's permanence, those walls hiding aging mysteries of numerous stories, origin of some of which lay deep within me. The night to come was to carve another mark in memory, and like dodging laser-like censor of vision, we stole our way through unknown terrain, only to reach a peak from where stars so appeared just within our fingers' reach. We drew shapes up in the night sky coloured with moonlight shining bright, nicknamed the mighty interstellar beasts of Moon and Morning Sun, secretly traced the trajectories of dark and light clouds, and did stretch the bandwidth of mental existence, partly by words, partly by experiences.
The sun rose high, and I was to say Goodbye. Goodbye to those spirits who melted into mine and bound well to be friends and brothers. Goodbye to the amazing enthusiasm of a minuscule perspective-shift that Youth Alliance instilled. Goodbye to so many pending adventures, instances of which GM'13 made me live, but which had aged old in my memories now, to be catalyzed by stories of this new generation of Change agents.
*Gramya Manthan is a Self-Reflection-cum-Rural-Immersion program set in Rural Kanpur.
http://youthallianceofindia.org/gramya-manthan/
